Good golly, look at this holiday home in Menorca! The tiles, the tiles, the tiles! I love all the curves in the ceilings, and the palette throughout –– dusty rose, rusts and moody blues –– is beautiful. There’s a pottery studio on the property, and a petanque pitch, too. Pine trees and hammocks are in abundance.
Maybe it’s the name, Ciambellone, but I love this cake. It looks like a giant doughnut, so simple in its appeal. It’s a tea cake, so serve it as a merenda with a cup of Jasmine, or for breakfast with hot chocolate. My kids, who’s breakfasts and snacks are never so delectable would fall off their stools if this confection landed before them.
There are some gorgeous finds over at online decor shop, Furbish. Think pink velvet cushions, (who doesn’t need one of those) bright suzanis and vintage rugs woven with every colour of the rainbow. I’m a little bonkers for this orange grove wallpaper, and what table setting can live without these periwinkle palms!
I’m always impressed with people gutsy enough to paint their kitchen in a bold colour. It’s where we spend so much of our time, so you’ve got to love it. This Melbourne artist, painted hers a zingy shade of chartreuse, Dulux’s Costa Del Sol, to be exact. I for one, am a big fan.
Good golly! Right here, is the very best of Autumn. A roaring fire, gourds and berries on the table, and a bright sunlight pouring in. As a child, October and November were such rich and exciting months. We scavenged for conkers and inhaled apple crumble and burnt leaves. There was Halloween. Guy Fawkes. And birthdays for my brother and I. It was chilly and damp, but that didn’t stop us from racing around the neighbourhood in a sweaty t-shirt. I imagine great meals being served at this table. Shepherd’s Pie followed by stewed apples and custard.
It’s at this time of year, when the days get shorter, and the air is chilly and damp, that I like to treat myself to a present that celebrates winter. A wool sweater in some zingy colour usually does the trick. This year, I am on the hunt for a brilliant balaclava; something that will keep me warm, and my face protected from the elements, but that’s colourful and cheery, too. I like pompoms, and I don’t mind looking just a small bit ridiculous. I will not be purchasing my balaclava from an outward bound shop — I may get a dreary backup for snowstorms — but rather some overpriced, chic, online shop that boasts fur slippers and cashmere earmuffs. Yes, I will indulge myself this frivolity, and when it’s minus 22 outside, you’ll wish you had too.
Even for me, maximalist at heart, this room is one toile too many. Like many spaces I share on La Parachute, I don’t want to live here, but I appreciate that it exists. The wallpaper is splendid, as are the mix of fabrics. I wonder who does live here, and what the rest of the house looks like.
Since I started it in 2015, La Parachute has provided me with a forum to explore ideas, thoughts, whims and fancies. I write for myself, to exercise my writing and editing skills, to indulge in frivolity and fantasy, and to think about life’s trials and joys. It’s not as personal as a journal –– I have one of those, too –– but more of an online scrapbook where I celebrate the people, places and things I love. I am so grateful for this portal, and it’s always a delight when I hear that a post has inspired or moved someone, or just simply made them happy. This morning, I came across the beautiful work of German artist, Günther Förg. Of course, the colours pulled me in, but there is something in the gestures, free and childlike that I really love.
Evi Savvaidi‘s Sky is the Limit stopped me in my tracks this morning. Her enormous sculptures by the sea –– they’re on Cottesloe Beach, halfway between Perth and Fremantle –– are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a while. Context is everything, I understand, but what a wonderful experience it must be to walk around them.
I, like many, am overwhelmed by choice. I like a menu with five or six items on it, and a supermarket that doesn’t make choosing chickpeas feel like a task. Since we moved, I’ve lived with a small version of my wardrobe, and not once have I felt limited or without. On the contrary, I’ve found the focus freeing. In my pottery, I decided to work with only one colour, blue, rather than the rainbow of colours I started with. Glazes are complicated, and clay is inherently unpredictable. In simplifying my choice, I’ve given myself a greater chance of success, and created an opportunity for a cohesive collection and stronger personal aesthetic. I think about my children, any child, and how much more imaginative and resourceful they are with few toys (or a stone and a stick) to play with. It’s the paradox of choice. The more we have, the less creative we are. One day, I may introduce more colours to my process. And I may revisit that wardrobe of plumed scarves and bejeweled dresses. But for now, less is more.
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